Only a Mother Could Love a Comp Skier

So, I’m chillin’ in a ski resort cafeteria last season at about 4:30pm and a dude sashays into the cafeteria wearing a bright yellow competition bib.

“Hmmmm” were the words in my thought cloud.

This dude walks right by me and out of utter curiosity, I says:

“So, you’re a Comp Skier, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m competing, ya know. It’s no big deal, it’s just the World Championships.”

“Oh, that sounds really exciting.”

“Yeah, I got 17th at the World Tour Championships last season and I’m goin’ for the win this year.”

“Oh, sick, so that means that you’re, like, a complete fucking hack on skis then, right?”

“Yeah, um, no, what’d you say, what?!”

Despite the flowery nature of the titles of these competitions, they are serious amateur-hour daytime specials that fortunately very few poor unfortunate souls are forced to witness. These souls are generally Mas, Pas, girlfriends, and the confused canines of the repugnant skiers in said competitions. These sorrowful spectators suffer tirelessly through hours of hideous skiing with no idea which chop-turning, back-slapping, hip-checking, line-pausing, mother-waving, full-face-wearing monstrosity is theirs. When asked “did ya see me Ma, huh, did ya see me?” They suck it up, politely nod their aching heads and say, “ya did great honey, and you had such styyyyle!”. This is a heart warming moment. A special moment. It’s the moment when ya realize that only a mother could love a comp skier and his heinous style. God bless you comp skier Mas. There oughta be bumper stickers that say “Comp Skier Ma”. I’d see that sticker and say “aaaawww” every time. That’s love, people. That. Is. Love. Okay?

Fortunately, I’m no dummy. I’ve been thoroughly educated on the topic. I know how burly and gnarly it is to be a comp skier. My knowledge of the burliness and gnarliness of comp skiing actually comes verbatim from having had many a comp skier explain just how burly and gnarly they are directly to me. I now consider comp skiers a wealth of pertinent burl and gnar gnowledge.
I’ve also had these comp skiers calmly explain just how smooooth you have to ski to win these competitions. Smooth like frayed fiberglass or spreadable cactus spines. It’ll make ya wonder why comp skiers almost never make it out of comp world and into ski movie world. Well, it may make you wonder, but I sure as hell don’t wonder, because I liken their skiing style to waterfowl recently pumped full of buckshot thrashing about in a shallow muddy pond.

And there is always the judging to confront. The judges are the kingpins of ski comp universe. These events directly parallel figure skating where the judges are omnipotent and the subjectivity of the “sport” is overwhelmingly and sufficiently nauseating. Could attempting to influence the judges hurt your score? I think not! Luckily, unlike Olympic judges, the ski comp judges are a smidgen or two easier to manipulate. Using drugs and alcohol with the judges, causing debauchery in their presence, and passing out dead drunk within 3 hours of your competition run are all grandiose ways of “gettin in good” with ski comp judges.

If you take it from me (which I strongly recommend, since I’m Joey-fuckin-Bagadonuts) you should participate in all these activities if you wanna make the top 10.

Now, let’s review our check-list:

1. Telling everyone ya know, and some that ya don’t, that you compete in World Championship skiing events. Check

2. Skiing like a hack on a regular basis. Check

3. Begging your Ma to come watch you (’cause no one else will). Check

4. Abusing drugs and alcohol with judges whenever, and wherever, possible. Check

If ya truly do have these all checked, you’re on your way to being the most burly, gnarly comp skier that any other comp skier’s Mas, Pas, homely girlfriends, or dogs have ever seen. Congratulations. You’ve made it into the comp skiing world. Congratu-fuckin-lations.